


hard candy fingernails like claws

by supernatasha



Category: The Good Wife (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, F/F, F/M, Female Character of Color, Multi, Polyamory, Slurs, Threesome - F/F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-19
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 23:32:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2327183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/supernatasha/pseuds/supernatasha
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Five times conversation leads to sex, and the one time sex leads to conversation.]</p><p>She doesn't know what she wants, but it isn't this. Not the mysterious façade she's always putting on, nor the cold eyes she provides anyone with when they ask personal questions, almost certainly not the empty bed she comes home to. </p><p>It gets awfully lonely on there by herself most nights.</p>
            </blockquote>





	hard candy fingernails like claws

1

Crowded bar, Kalinda observes as she slides into her usual seat beside Alicia. They haven't met up like this for drinks, in what feels like years, but it's perfectly natural to see her customary wedge of lemon beside the shot glass.

"Hi," Alicia says, and Kalinda throws back her head to knock the shot down her throat.

"Hi," she answers. "You sounded… urgent on the phone."

"No, not urgent exactly," Alicia pauses, as if trying to consider what her voice would be if not urgent. Kalinda waits patiently for Alicia to start again. "It was more lonely."

Kalinda considers that. Okay. She can work with lonely. "Well, I'm glad to help any way I can."

They get more drinks, more shots, more of the prickling salt on the rim of their glass, more laughter increasing in volume until the bartender is giving them dangerous looks.

It's not until the bartender threatens to cut them off that she takes Alicia by the arm and drags her out into the cool night, a grateful change from the chattering and muggy air inside the bar. Kalinda takes a deep breath and says, "I don't think you should be driving. You've been drinking longer than me, do you want me to take you home?"

"No, not home. Home is empty, Kalinda," Alicia pouts. "Zach's gone and Grace's gone and Peter's gone and Will…" Alicia trails off, staring up at the starless sky for a long moment. "Gone."

"Right, then, I'll take you to _my_ home and get you hydrated and under the covers," Kalinda says, guiding the other woman to the passenger seat of her car, buckling her in. She can hold her liquor a lot better than most other people she's met. She knows how to deal with drunk friends.

 _Friends,_ she muses, starting the ignition and waiting for her car to warm. Are they still friends?

Even as she's thinking, Alicia reaches over her side of the car and with a small whispered, "Hey," presses her lips to Kalinda. It's a shock, mostly because Kalinda didn't know Alicia still had the hand-eye coordination to aim for such a small area. Bit impressive, really.

She tastes like tequila, which is what reminds her. Kalinda pulls back. "Alicia, you're drunk."

"Only because I needed to be brave to do that," Alicia answers. "Now these covers you were talking about – they were on your bed, right?"

Kalinda drives home in record time, Alicia's fingers wandering up her thigh and just to the edge of her skirt. That skirt had to go.

Once they're home, Kalinda loses track of her keys unzipping her skirt, helping Alicia with the buttons of her blouse between sloppy kissing, Alicia's lipstick leaving marks on Kalinda's skin, the floor to her bed somehow an obstacle course as they trip over boots and bottles on their way there.

God, she's waited for this since she first laid eyes on Alicia striding into her office with her hair brushed and make-up applied just right. It was easier to act like there was nothing there, but she'd felt the simmering tension between them more than once.

Kalinda shoves aside the covers and lays Alicia back on the bed, kissing her way down Alicia's pale stomach, slowly rolling down her stockings one foot at a time. She's already wet, leaving a damp spot on her silk lace panties.

Pulling down the underwear, Kalinda leans closer and lightly runs her tongue between Alicia's lips, earning a sharp hiss. Grinning, she does it again and watches Alicia squirm above her. She's sensitive.

 _Very_ sensitive.

Kalinda likes it.

She sucks lightly at Alicia's clit, letting a single finger caress the delicate flesh. To her surprise, Alica bucks, her spine curving up, moaning into the frigid air.

That's all it had taken? It hadn't even been three minutes.

"My turn," Alicia says, still breathing hard, and Kalinda raises an eyebrow. She hadn't thought that far ahead.

(Yes, she had.)

There's a lot of, "Is this okay?" and "Should I—" and "I'm going to do it now."

She idly wonders if Alicia is this uncertain with her husband, or even with Will for that matter, or if this inconvenience is only afforded to her. It's like stumbling toward an orgasm.

Well, it's more like Alicia is scared to really admit to doing this.

Kalinda stops Alicia, says, "Here, like this," and guides her hand down over her sensitized clit, rubbing in a circle. "Faster," she mumbles, letting go of the hand and grasping the sheets, feeling her orgasm build low in her belly.

Alicia stares at her as she moves her hand between Kalinda legs, and Kalinda has to close her eyes before she can come.

That's the thing about Alicia. She's one of those girls. She pretends it all happened in a drunken blur, then the morning after, she snatches up her purse and shoes and nearly runs from the apartment, then refuses to make eye contact for a whole week. 

Kalinda knows Alicia isn't religious, but there's just something so Catholic schoolgirl about her. Forty years of white upper-class upbringing.

It had been hard enough to convince herself not to be ashamed, back in middle school, back when her mother still told her praying to goddesses draped in intricate saris would make her beautiful, when she thought leather jackets were for bikers, when she wore dresses trying to fit in with the girls whose hair and skin were shades lighter, with the girls who giggled over boys, with the girls who sat at home as trophy wives now. 

Those girls that Kalinda had desperately wanted to kiss, soft pink glossy lips and rosy red blush on their cheeks. Those girls that would have spit on Kalinda if they'd known her thoughts.

She's come a long way since self-hatred, though. 

She isn't ready to go through it again with someone else. 

Especially not when that someone has a husband, two kids, and a manicured lawn.

2

Cary is cocky the way young boys used to having their way are. The world has worn away some of his naive idealism and replaced it with the heavy cynicism they all carry in Chicago as bleak as the gum-riddled sidewalks, but he never loses his confidence.

Maybe it's the only thing he has left in a world of cheap liquor and student loans.

They always meet in a bar. Not the same one as she meets Alicia in. Never that one.

There's always banter. Well, if you can pass it off with veiled threats and subtle innuendo and a vague attempt to pry into her past that's always unfruitful and redundant. There's always a lot of, "This doesn't mean anything," and "This is the last time, okay?"

(Spoiler: it's not. It never is.)

But today, Kalinda wants to get the taste of Alicia out of her mouth. True to form, to prior experience, Alicia _had_ been one of those girls. She hadn't spoken to Kalinda in four days.

Yes, she was probably busy with her new firm or with running for Attorney General or, you know, busy regretting sleeping with another woman.

Kalinda cuts the conversation short. "Cary, let's not," she purrs, demure.

She can be demure.

Cary looks tired, dark circles under his eyes when he stares at her. But he always looks tired these days. She's tried not to think about whether she's the reason behind it. Cary knows by now he's being used. He doesn't seem to mind.

Well, at least that's what she tells herself.

Cary's apartment is something out of a frat boy's dorm.

There are dirty dishes piled up in the sink and take-out boxes beside the couch, expensive clothes littering the floor and beer bottles crowding a small table he probably props his feet up on when he watches tv. 

He fucks her up against the door, too impatient to even carry her to his room -- not that she minds. She's getting a great view of the mess his life is while he kisses the tender skin of her throat. Her back's getting indented by the frame of his door, but her skin is slick enough to leave enough room so that it doesn't hurt. She'll just take a shower in his bathroom.

He has these soft thick towels that feel luxurious against her naked flesh.

Kalinda sets an easy pace for him, rolling her hips forward just enough to keep him occupied as she studies the row of pictures hanging across from the tv, checking to see if any of have changed, knowing invariably that they haven't. He's got a boring family. The family picture does not include his father – predictably. A picture of lanky teenage Cary with a golden retriever. A diploma from UIC. A framed picture with George Clooney. Pretentious, even by his standards.

His breathing is harsh and erratic against her neck and she realizes abruptly he's on the verge of coming. His knees are already beginning to buckle under her weight. It's always a surprise when she remembers they're not all experienced at this sort of stuff.

She tells him, "Get on your knees."

"My _knees_?" he looks confused for a moment, lost somewhere in his pre-orgasmic haze.

"Your. Knees."

He does as she asks, looking confused all the while.

And finally, with leverage of her own, she well and truly fucks him, focusing her attention solely on Cary. He makes a lot of noises as he comes and she tries not to roll her eyes.

"Kalinda… I think I love you."

She freezes, her palms splayed against his chest, staring down at his earnest face.

"Don't," she warns him.

His eyes are huge, vulnerable.

God, she fucking hates him sometimes.

"I really think I do," he insists.

She gets off him abruptly, never minding the sharp pang that goes through her as she stands, leaving him naked and confused on the floor. As she grabs her stuff, he props himself up on an elbow, and when she's buttoning her coat, he opens his mouth to talk again.

Kalinda cuts him off before he can even start, "This wasn't the fucking deal and you know it, Cary."

She makes sure to slam the door behind her.

3

She meets up with Lana outside her apartment. Lana's obviously just gotten back from work. Good. She'll be too tired to argue. Kalinda's not looking for resistance, not tonight anyway.

Lana turns the key and says, "I'm not letting you in there."

"Is it classified?" Kalinda teases, then pushes past Lana through the door.

She hears a huff, then Lana follows her in, looking exasperated. "What are you doing here? I thought we were over after I almost got you killed or whatever that overreaction was you had last time you were in my apartment."

"You're only calling it an overreaction because Bishop didn't have me shot. If I _had_ been shot, you would've spent the rest of your life trying to find my voice at the bottom of every bottle you came across," Kalinda heads straight for Lana's room.

"Where are you going?"

"Bed," Kalinda answers, taking off her jacket and letting it fall to the floor – a bit dramatically, truth be told, but she isn't really interested in staying any longer. After that debacle with Cary – never mind. She won't even think of that now. Better if Lana takes the hint and moves on to business. Kalinda sits back on Lana's bed and gets to unzipping her boots.

"What is it this time?" Lana's voice sounds like she's already given in. "Bad day? Bad month?"

"It's been a bad life, to be honest," Kalinda grins something cheeky.

It's probably the most honest thing she's ever said in Lana's presence.

"And how many weapons do you have on you this time?" Lana asks, dismissing Kalinda's answer, leaning against the doorframe.

Kalinda spreads her arms and says, "Why don't you check?"

Lana finds a knife strapped to her thigh and a .45 ACP tucked into the waistband of her skirt and a very unclothed Kalinda sighing with every touch.

It works, as it always does, of course. Lana's too turned on to care about motivations by the time Kalinda's unbuttoning her nice professional silk shirts. Kalinda never did get that perfect balance in her own workclothes.

She somehow always ends up here, in this bed, usually with her wrist handcuffed to the headboard with Lana swaying over her.

Maybe it's the fact that Lana never asks any difficult questions. It's just for one night, and it could end anytime. Kalinda likes that. The ambiguity. The carefully cultivated disaffect that's normally her MO.

Besides, Lana's the only sex she's had in months that isn't straight edged vanilla. She can only take so much from her married-mother-of-two and her pretty-boy-lawyer until she needs someone who can slam into her body with the same recklessness and ferocity she feels in her blood, digging her hard candy fingernails like raven's claws into tender flesh and biting just hard enough to hurt.

And besides, Lana's got toys.

Toys, like the vibrator Kalinda knows Lana keeps in the bottom drawer of her night stand, always well charged. Kalinda digs for it while Lana unzips her pants, and she finds it just as the other woman is pressing her mouth into the skin of her neck, settling her weight onto Kalinda's thighs.

Lana takes the vibrator from Kalinda's fingers and the familiar hum of it instantly sets her at ease.

"You know, Kalinda, you can just get one of these online if this is what you're after," Lana murmurs into her ear, her breath warm.

"The vibrator doesn't talk stupid shit when I'm trying to get off," Kalinda replies.

Lana presses the vibrator against Kalinda's clit suddenly, and the whimper that leaves Kalinda is the second most honest thing to escape her lips in front of Lana.

4

Sex with Nick is war.

There's more plotting than a chess game. 

It isn't even about sex by the time they get each other's clothes off, it's about power. Who has more bruises by the end? Who's on top for longer? Who got off and left the other frustrated and pissed off?

It's the best sex Kalinda has ever had.

Clear and sharp, a thin _thin_ line wound up so tight that it snaps the second Nick lays a finger on her. It's probably the reason she married him in the first place, knowing even then what a terrible decision it would turn out to be.

That's why she calls him from the border at Detroit. She drives five entire hours just to get there, then she calls him, entirely unsure if he's busy or even still living in Fargo, where she'd… well, she'd _convinced_ him to return back to.

(Convinced sounds better, Kalinda muses. It sounds better than, "I beat him within an inch of his life and nearly killed him, swearing I would finish the job if he didn't go back to Canada.")

It takes only an hour of waiting before he's opening the door to her passenger seat and telling her directions to the closest and cheapest motel.

She doesn't really like "cheap," truth be told, but she knows it's where Nick would want her to fuck him. He always looked at hotels and resorts with disdain. Too prissy for him. He liked places that smelled like piss.

This is already a bad idea. Kalinda regrets it and she's only driven a quarter of a mile.

"Surprised you called me," he tells her as she drives. "I'm happy you still have it in you to surprise me at all."

"Shut up," she tells him, focusing on the road signs. She didn't call him for a talk.

He seems hellbent on talking anyway. "I was wondering when you'd start missing me. And cock. Is that it? You miss cock, right? I knew this whole dyke thing wouldn't work out. There's something only a man can give a woman—"

Kalinda brakes sharply.

Nick never wears a seatbelt.

He hits the airbag with a dull _thud_ and comes away with a bloody nose and a mouthful of curses. He grabs her jaw between strong fingers, but before he can get any further, Kalinda wrenches away.

"Your scars have barely faded, Nick, darling," she sneers the word. "Don't test my patience."

He huffs, on the very verge of saying something stupid again, then bites his tongue and sinks into his seat. He clicks his belt into place a moment later.  

The thing about Nick is that he's always out to prove something, to prove his dominance or reassert his manliness. There's more posturing than a courthouse. Which is exactly why Kalinda criticizes him when he's going down on her.

"I remember you being better with your tongue."

He glances up at her, startling blue irises nearly invisible around his wide pupils. He wipes his lips and grins. "Why don't you drop the yankee accent? It's just us in here."

"Well, it's just that I'm so good at faking things," she smirks down at him. "Accents, attractions, orgasms..."

Nick takes the hint and his lips curl upwards, but not in a smile. He presses closer to her and kisses her hard. She can taste herself on his tongue, her salty tang. It isn't the first time he's done this. It doesn't bother her anymore. 

"My turn," he growls, settling her hips. 

Kalinda rolls out from under him and says, "I'm late. I need to shower."

Before he can catch her, Kalinda darts into the bathroom and locks the door behind her. She's won this round.

From the other room comes the sound of something shattering. 

She sighs and turns the water up as hot as it goes. She's the one whose card is on file. They'll be charging her for the lamp. She stands under the scalding stream and wonders if Alicia thinks like that too, that only a man can give a woman what she needs. It's been five days now without a phonecall. Kalinda's starting to fray. 

Nick's gone by the time she comes out.

For this, at least, she is grateful.

5

Sometimes, worlds collide. Sometimes Cary and she are catching a drink after work, even after he's fucked up, with every intention of sleeping together afterwards.

Kalinda's forgiven Cary for his minor indiscretion.

(He hadn't apologized for it.)

That's when they bump into familiar friends. Friends like Dana. Dana, who sits without an invitation and says, "My two favorite people in this hellhole of a city," and knocks back her whiskey, neat.

Kalinda's cheek burns with a slap she'd taken years ago.

And yet, Dana smiles. She has a drink with them, then another, carries on a perfectly pleasant conversation where none of them talk about the things they really want to ask, masks firmly in place.

She's already slept with Cary. Kalinda can tell. She's good at this sort of stuff, always has been. It's the little things that give them away. Dana's lingering touches on his hand, Cary's gaze at the curve of Dana's breast until he looks away with a smile on his lips as he undoubtedly remembers what they felt like under his hands -- a certain familiarity the two have that makes Kalinda feel intrusive.

But whatever was between them must not have lasted long.

It doesn't take long to get them both into bed together. It turns out, in the end, there's very little of actual seducing involved. They want it, the formalities and drinks merely an excuse.

And here they end up, with Cary mostly watching from the chair with his legs splayed apart as she kisses Dana on the bed of the Waldorf Astoria, where Dana has a room paid for by the state (though with a room this nice, Kalinda has her doubts, but Dana is as honest about her current job as Kalinda is about, well, everything).

See, this is the kind of place she likes. It's not exactly cheap. The sheets are nice and clean, probably something with a high thread count. It doesn't smell like piss at all. It smells a little like whiskey.

That part might be Dana.

Cary reaches into his pants to do something about his boner.

Kalinda firmly ignores him, helping Dana with her clothes, with those wonderfully well-tailored pantsuits she wears and the lacy bra under it, her smooth soft skin that prickles with goosebumps when Kalinda runs a finger over it, cupping her breasts and sucking on one until Dana hisses from overstimulation, urging Kalinda lower.

She happily obliges, nipping her way down Dana's stomach, kissing the curve of her superb ass, working her way down until she finds Dana wet and wanting, nearly throbbing with need. She presses a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh, works two fingers into Dana and manages a glance toward Cary.

He's jerking himself off, fixated on the two of them. Catching Kalinda's eye, he raises an eyebrow.

Kalinda offers him a smile, keeping him caught in her gaze, and presses the flat of her tongue against Dana.

She cries out, hips rising off the bed as Kalinda curves her fingers inside her.

Cary leans toward the bed and kisses Dana, quieting her whines and panting. Dana takes Cary into her hands, and Kalinda knows he's already on edge, knows they both are, and she takes Dana's clit into her mouth and presses her tongue hard into her and –

"Fuck," Dana says, eyes shut as she comes against Kalinda's mouth.

Kalinda draws it out, keeping her fingers inside and feeling Dana convulsing around her, her mouth set against Dana's arching hips. Dana collapses back on the bed and Kalinda finally rises, stretching her cramping calves, and joining Cary on the bed.

"So much for not being a lesbian," Dana mutters and Cary grins in response.

Kalinda knows it's an inside joke or something, but she reaches over Cary and kisses Dana long and hard. Pulling away, she tells her, "The word you're looking for is bisexual. Look it up."

1

Kalinda doesn't use sex to get at people. She uses people to get at sex. There's a difference. It's fun, for one thing. For another, there's something brutally honest about a human being with their pants down around their ankles and their skirts hitched up around their waists. Something lovely. Wide eyes and trembling fingers and arching backs.

But of course she wants more than that. She wants intimacy. She wants love.

She wants, well.

She doesn't know what she wants, but it isn't this. Not the mysterious façade she's always putting on, nor the cold eyes she provides anyone with when they ask personal questions, almost certainly not the empty bed she comes home to.

It gets awfully lonely on there by herself most nights.

Today is probably one of those nights. Kalinda can't figure out. She's been running around for the past week, fucking her exes and trying to pretend everything fine, but all that she can think about is Alicia's lips on hers, green eyes staring at her, the lasting silence since that night.

Not even a text.

Kalinda doesn't need justification for the cold shoulder, she just needs… some kind of hint, at least. Some indication that it's really not going to work out. Or a sign that Alicia wants it to go back to normal, the bar meetings and tequila and Kalinda pining.

Is she pining?

She shakes her head. No, she isn't. She likes Alicia sure, she's physically attracted her, but it's not like she's never had a real friend before.

(She hasn't, that's the thing.)

It's definitely pining.

Her bell rings, and Kalinda wraps the duvet around herself. She's not in the mood for solicitors or Lana or whatever. The bell rings again, and Kalinda wonders if she should defect to Alicia and Cary's law firm with Diane, or pack her shit and move to California. The weather there's nice, isn't it?

An insistent knocking replaces the bell and Kalinda glares in the general direction of her front door. Getting up, she stalks to the door. If this isn't an emergency, someone is really going to regret bothering her.

It's Alicia.

Kalinda's not sure if her expression is shock or relief.

Alicia kisses her – hard. She presses into the house with her arms pulling Kalinda closer, shutting the door with the heel of her foot, fingers at the knot of Kalinda's bathrobe.

She's sober.

She's _here_.

They're at Kalinda's bed and most of Alicia's clothes are somewhere in the hall. She's not entirely sure how they got there. All she can remember is Alicia pressing close, hands under her robe. She forgets everything again as Alicia lays her back on the bed and slips a finger into her, kissing the tender place between her neck and shoulder, dragging her tongue to her breast and sucking her nipple until Kalinda feels like she can hardly breathe.

 At one point, Kalinda's pretty sure her eyes roll back into her head a little bit.

Alicia comes up and kisses her, grinds her palm into Kalinda's clit until she squirms under her, thrusts upward into the touch.

"Come," Alicia whispers, and Kalinda does.

Oh god, she comes and looks at Alicia's dark eyes, at the green irises she can barely make out in shadows, the little line between her eyebrows as she concentrates on her hands and – fuck.

She's completely fucked. She actually has to catch her breath, unable to recall the last time she'd had an orgasm that had affected her like _this._

"Good?" Alicia asks.

Kalinda nods mutely.

"I watched lesbian porn literally all day in my office, but as soon as I walked through the door, I forgot literally everything I thought I'd learned. So that? That was all me," Alicia sits back in her peach bra, the kind of sensible thing women who worked in an office wear, and crosses her legs. "I think I did really bad last time. It was embarrassing."

" _You_ were embarrassed?"

 _More importantly, you watched porn in your office?_ Kalinda did not say.

"You're intimidating, Kalinda," Alicia replies looking down at her own hands. "You're, you know, amazing. You walk around in the kind of heels most women would be too ashamed of wearing, and you look like you could get the president on speed dial in a few seconds -- or you know, maybe someone even more powerful -- and you always talk in riddles I feel like I couldn't understand in a million years, and you're flawless in bed. I – I didn't think you'd want someone like me."

Kalinda considers this.

"You know the women in porn are usually not even lesbians, right? They're faking most of the time."

"Is that your takeaway from this whole thing?" Alicia asks, tense. A muscle in jaw twitches. She stands and turns away.

Shit. It might just be her recent orgasm spurring her into action, but Kalinda grabs her hand and says, "Look, I'm sorry, alright? I'm just not good at talking about things."

Alicia doesn't turn around. "What things?"

"I don't know. _These_ things. You and me things."

"Are there any you and me things?"

"Do you want there to be?"

Alicia makes an exasperated noise that comes across more as endearing than anything else. "See, this is what I mean, everything you say is a riddle and I have no idea what you mean. So here's what I'm saying – the thing? The you and me thing? I want it to work. I want it to be official. And I'm willing to give it a shot and try if you are. So, are you?"

It's lawyer Alicia, drawing up contracts and figuring out the right kind of wording, locking in her target and leaving no place to flee or hide. This is what she'll be dealing with if she says yes.

She says, "Yes." 

**Author's Note:**

> I really don't ship Kalinda and Nick, but I'm also uncomfortable with the idea that she murdered him (as seems to be the general fandom consensus), so I kind of threw him in here to exonerate Kalinda and hint at her losing her mind over Alicia. I hope you all enjoyed this! :)


End file.
